You're a Wolf, Boy
by snowballlatvian
Summary: What happens when the metaphor leaves Little Red the wolf? RusAme Werewolf/Vampire AU


Little Red

_What happens when the metaphor leaves Little Red the wolf?_

_.-.-._

"You can't be here right now!" Alfred gave a tuft of his wheat blond hair a rough tug. He was frustrated with Ivan's inopportune appearance, but the majority of his turmoil was directed inward. For nearly two years his condition had been kept under control outside of the full moon. The hope that he'd be able to live normally again was pulled from his grasp in a single moment of weakness. God, he could feel his heart pounding in his ears like drums. It clashed with the irregularly slow pace of Ivan's heart, audible only to his heightened senses.

Any other moment it would have struck him as odd that he could hear the heartbeat of a creature that was supposed to be dead. Very few thoughts made it past the incredible pounding and the sensation of fire beneath his skin, though. Every tendon twitched with desire to touch every inch of Ivan—he also wanted to rip his heart out with his teeth. Lust and blood lust too often got confused in his head. They were such similar burning needs all tangled together, and his brain just couldn't make heads or tails of it.

Ivan smiled at him with all the tender affection of a loving benefactor (he was no such thing). That wicked smile both sent a shiver up Alfred's spine and caused his stomach to churn with vitriolic anger. "I said you needed to leave!" he ordered with greater force in the hopes that it would work this time. Of course, it did not. And, why would it? Ivan wasn't exactly one to follow orders. He knew this quite well by now.

"You cannot expect me to leave at such an interesting moment!" was the ever amused reply from his unwelcome guest. That accent tortured him—he could hear how his tongue had to work at not rolling its 'R's and it made him want to taste it, to chew it, to chew through his soft pink tongue and feel the metallic blood slide down his esophagus with smooth-as-silk ease.

"No!"

He hadn't meant to say that aloud, but there it was. A strange curiosity surfaced in the back of his mind. Could he eat a vampire the way he could eat a human or animal? Would that kill Ivan? Would it even hurt that much? In all honesty, he knew nothing about vampires or the inner workings of their nervous-system. Maybe a little bite would be all right...

With his pupils blown as they were, it would have been difficult for anyone to tell that one of his eyes was more akin to the sun than a clear blue sky, but Ivan could see it plainly. Poor little Alfred never let the wolf come out and play. It couldn't be healthy to shut such a large part of himself up like that. It was practically Victorian! While he wouldn't exactly call himself a hedonist, this ridiculous game of self-denial was unnatural at best. He felt the need to take it into his own hands and guide Alfred back to the path.

Though in this metaphor Ivan appeared more the wolf and Alfred the little girl in red, the reality was far more complicated. Little Red couldn't stay innocent forever with the teeth of a carnivore, and it was better for the common good that he have some practice with another carnivore. At the very least, it'd relieve some tension and make him less likely to snap on the nearest bystander.

Not that this was entirely altruistic. The fun was in the chase, and Ivan was a predator through and through-there should be no illusions about that. Watching the pup squirm was his favorite part. And, any little nibbles would be reciprocated thoroughly. Werewolf blood was actually no different than human blood. The true difference being in that the dominant virus in the blood stream would kill off any new intruders. Human white blood cells couldn't accomplish such a feat; it wasn't natural.

Stepping closer, Ivan placed a gentle hand on the boy's shoulder. He jerked back instinctively, the intensity in his eyes growing exponentially with every passing second that his demands were ignored. Much to his chagrin, a definitive snarl crawled its way out of his throat. His gaze darted around the room to find his quickest exit. He needed to get out—away from any stimuli that would push him over the edge the way Ivan threatened. God, he needed to calm down.

A little mock of a chuckle ricocheted off his eardrums with vibrations that collected in the depths of his belly. This time, the hand cupped his cheek. The gentleness in its caress was a joke not lost on Alfred. He barked out a laugh and watched Ivan with incredulity. His fingers at his side opened and closed repeatedly, grasping desperately at nothing.

"Are you hungry, little one?" Ivan asked, his tone a caricature of concern. Carefully, he rubbed circles in that plump, red cheek with his thumb. Those youthful cheeks that seemed unperturbed by age, they looked like sweet little apples—he could just eat them right up.

"Are you fucking sure you want this?" Alfred stared him down with that painfully earnest look he always wore. His voice came out in a short breath. It was becoming more and more difficult to hold himself back. His teeth were just dying to scrape into something soft and chewy.

"Your silent suffering game is utterly useless here," was Ivan's gentle response. "You are saving no one by denying any indulgence. You cannot kill me."

There was the truth, through and through. Why deny his urges when it wouldn't bring anyone any harm? A gnawing worry told him that he wouldn't be able to control it if he gave in even just this once, but was that true? That could be nothing more than a creeping paranoia. Giving in was beginning to look like a better idea with Ivan's pale face moving closer to his. He could feel the shallow breath on his cheek, causing his brain to fog up like a window pane on a cold day.

"I want to sink my teeth into your veins. Indulge me?" was whispered harshly against the shell of his ear.

As with rubber bands when stretched too wide, his little voice of reason snapped and launched to wherever little voices go when the tension is too great for them to bear. He pressed a fierce, open-mouthed kiss onto Ivan's lips. Their teeth clashed painfully—gloriously. Grasping tightly onto his shirt, he bit into that preposterous grin as if it would rid him of the mocking arrogance directed at his defeat.

Ivan pulled away roughly, wiping away the blood that was dribbling down his chin with the back of his hand, only to have more immediately replace it. The futility of the action made Alfred mimic his shit-eating grin, as it appeared there was a little victory to be found in being the cause of the injury. Another one of his chuckles sounded, that torturous sound that both infuriated and invigorated.

"My, what big teeth you have," he teased.

.-.-.

End notes: I hope you enjoyed this. I plan on making a non-linear AU out of it.


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